True Lies
by Tribble Master
Summary: Lies spill from your lips as easily as blood spills from mine.


**This story has two parts, one by moi, and another by my fellow author Scare4Irony. Immediately after reading this go look up Scare4Irony's side of the story! Because it's amazing, it's called One Or The Other. This story was a little challenging to write, and it's an experiment I hope you enjoy... **

**Both set during season one. Can't wait to hear what you think...**

**True Lies**

Lies spill from your lips as easily as blood slips from mine.

"It's gonna be okay, its gonna be okay," he repeats, frantically.

I gurgle, "'S not gonna be okay this time…"

My only brother holds me tighter, the pressure and heartache intensifies the pain. "It will," Sam promises. The empty words drift somewhere into the blackness that consumes me. Perhaps, I can finally sleep without those nightmares…

-o-o-o-

Teeth.

Claws.

Vivid images I can't shake, but then-

Sam wakes me up with rough arms. I have a feeling I was shaking before he came to my side. "What?"

"Nightmares?" he asks, quietly.

Flashes of a gruesome beast and an end to our Winchester luck reenter my mind. Sammy doesn't need to know how much I worry. How much I fear, that the end is closer than we think. "No," I say flatly, "did you at least make coffee before waking me up?"

Sam steps back, unsure if he should let this go. I hope I wasn't screaming. A decision is made in the silence. "It might be cold," he shrugs, "I got up an hour ago."

"Any more attacks?" I ask, half-heartedly running a hand through my hair.

Sam gives a half smile. "No. Lucky for us."

At least there is some luck out there. I hope it holds, because this case is screaming at us and those warning cries are falling on deaf ears. Even the motel is crappier than usual. Sam announces he's going to the shower and I decide to scrounge around for grub. There's cold, left over pie in the decrepit refrigerator I munch on as I wander across the scatted pieces of our latest case.

-o-o-o-o-

The heaviness in my chest increases tenfold and there is a ringing in my ears that won't go way.

I guess I'm dying.

And like everything in my knotted life, it's very far from peaceful. There's a jerking feeling as I react to every bump on my descent. Sam's words are still echoing in my ears. Other voices hum in the background. Spirits ushering me onward, I presume. Because I am moving- everything is moving- so fast.

I wonder-

If I'm the hero(but I'll never say I did the job well, just as best as I could)--

If I'm dead- (and that's how it looks)--

Then who'll save Sammy in the end if I can't?

-o-o-o-o-o-

"We'll l save them, right?" Sam says scrutinizing the pattern. All the papers are laid out on the wobbling table. As I lean forward it tilts slightly, knocking things around. I look at where he's focusing.

"Yeah," I throw out, "I mean look."

I pick up one map and lay it flat. Pointing it out, making my case. "There's no doubt. We just go to stake out some suburban house and catch it."

Sam nods, and sets down the gun he's cleaning. "You got penalty of silver bullets?"

I toss a glare at him. Then point at the small arsenal on stacked on the bed. "Duh."

"All it takes is one shot to the heart," he smiles. Hopeful. This case won't be too bad. He looks down at his beyond clean gun and frowns slightly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"One shot to the heart!" comes clear through the noise. It's not Sam's voice anymore. I wonder again, why things aren't getting quieter, when I'm still getting colder. First the shock and then the pain, but now it's all so far away. I don't even want to go back to that chaos anymore.

There's a new sensation now, and everything instantly changes. That cold numb, quickly becomes a fire in my chest.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The fire wakes Sam up. Well, actually, I do in my reaction to the burning suburbia. "Shit! The house is on fire!"

Sam startles awake to see the flames licking the nursery window. We share a look. This isn't a demon case. And yet we find ourselves back at the beginning. I swallow the urge to run, to tally up the body count. This is a bad omen, God himself telling us to get the hell out. But we're hunters. Messed up Winchester luck or not, we go in. We save the goddamn day.

Guns drawn, safety off, kill shot ready, we burst in. The problem is immediately in our face: a growling werewolf. The suburban mom looks tasteful in pearls and an elegant night gown. The illusion of happy housewife is ruined by her snarls. Her red hair is untamed, her jaw line elongated to almost snout like proportions. She hunches aims ready to strike, her long fingers claw like.

At her feet is Jim, dear, her adoring husband. He whimpers, blood stemming from a blow to the skull. Upstairs a child cries. There's no time for rock, paper, riffle, and Sam knows it. He runs to save the child from a lamp thrown aside in this supernaturally twisted domestic fight.

I aim, and prepare to fire.

As the trigger pulls she snaps. Suddenly she's all action. It's a game of cat and flea-bitten-mutt. The bullet cracks the kitchen counter. Sam is behind me, small child in his arms. "Get the child out," I call over my shoulder running into the living room.

Sam disappears. The woman is sneaky and manages one good swipe at me. When Sam reappears, she's cornered but I'm on the floor shaking it off. It is Sam's turn now. He aims, and pulls.

Something triggers in Jim, dear.

Where the hell did he come from?

As big as Sam is a flying tackle makes him falter. At this point I'm steady enough to fire. His aims is off, but we both manage to shoot. Neither of us miss- both hitting chest. I watch the bitch go down, as my knees buckle. Sam still the hero saves Jim, dear's ungrateful ass. The man is thrown out on the lawn, unconscious, thanks to the butt of Sam's gun, next to his addled toddler.

And Sam's at my side.

At my side…

…my side hurts from a fall I didn't know I'd taken...

Momentary confusion passes as it hits me then, as Sam holds me, dragging me out of the blaze. At that moment I suddenly realize and feel the bullet's impact. I gasp his name.

"I'm so sorry…Dean…It will be okay…"

" 'S not your fault…" I murmur, but the words feel heavy. It's so hard to speak. Even to breath, as not words fall out, but deep red blood. He continues his mantra like a drum roll. Even as the awful truth seeps into my tortured frame, I can't help but feel safer. Somewhere in the years I stopped being just Sam's protection. It happened and I didn't even know it. Sam became my home and I looked at him for protection from what people called normal. Wrapped in his arms I know I won't be going home tonight.

Nightmares flash before my eyes, mixing with reality.

o-o-o-o-o

I've seen men die.

I've seen everything die.

But I don't remember it taking this long (Didn't I say this case wouldn't take long?) The noise and clatter has become a single continuous beep. (Like a warning bell) I'm alone, trapped in a blanket of blackness. I've always worried I'd be alone. (No way home) This must be hell.

But there is a noise now, more grounding than any infernal beep. A voice that can only mean one thing.

"Dean?"

Sam!

"I'm so sorry… I don't even know if you're listening…"

Of course I am Sam! But the only word I can say is- "s'm…"

It is weak and a pitiful reflection of my enthusiasm. Sam takes it, and springs to my side. "Dean!"

I squint up at him in the harsh light. The accident, and my near death experience, these hunts… It's a routine of death and destruction that doesn't seem to end and we're far too comfortable with. It's either him or me every week lying here. But I can forget that for a moment in my joy of seeing Sam so alive in this gray hospital. My cracked lips break into a smile.

" 'S gonna be okay, Sam," I lie.

For now at least.

**~FIN~**


End file.
